


Sambrose Lives

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Community: wrestlingkink, Dean loves paranormal shit, Friends to Lovers, Kink Meme, M/M, Music, Past Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Road Trips, ambiguously kayfabe compliant, idk - Freeform, like they talk about kayfabe but this treats MITB like a shoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the run up to Money in the Bank, Sami and Dean work a few things out between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sambrose Lives

**Author's Note:**

> So many people slip and call him Claudio during shows, including Dean, that I've headcanoned that his name is just Claudio Cesaro.
> 
> Mad props to the tumblr crew for sharing paranormal headcanons and being generally enthusiastic when I posted WIP snippets of this. Special thanks to dahdeemohn for important Bob Seger related conversations.
> 
> This was originally, months ago, inspired by a [kinkmeme prompt about Dean and Sami trying to come up with a tag team name](https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=714519#cmt714519). It grew a lot from there.

“Too sexual? Really? You went there?” Dean asked Sami backstage after the taping was over and after they had lost their tag team match.

“I just don’t know what your problem is with Sambrose,” Sami huffed.

Dean pressed his mouth into a line. “You know that’s a ship name, right? Right?”

Sami gave him a blank look.

Dean shook his head. “I am not explaining that. Not tonight. Go find Woods. Or E. Shit, I’d bet twenty bucks Sasha could explain it to you in detail but don’t tell her I said that.” Then Dean turned and walked away toward the locker room.

Sami wandered around, seeing if he could track down anyone to give him a less cryptic explanation of what Dean was talking about. But something nagged at him, the same part of him that wanted to make sure they picked a non-sexual name: that every time he looked at Dean, he felt a flutter in his chest and a burning deep down in his core.

You weren’t supposed to want your fellow wrestlers, your tag team partners. Sami had always known deep down that he was attracted to men, and a long time ago he decided he was going to keep it kayfabe—that he loved wrestling more than he hated being alone and he wouldn’t let anything he could control get in his way of his dream.

But here it was, coming back once again. He was both excited and terrified to work with Dean all through the European tour and into the future. He had admired the man for a long time from a distance. But he needed to not get flustered, not let his body control the conversation. All mind. Focus. Sambrose. Sambrose?

He nearly ran straight into Xavier Woods while he was distracted by thinking of Dean’s face, in particular the dimple in his left cheek.

“Sambrose,” Xavier said, and sucked his teeth. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you.”

“Do I?” Sami asked confusedly. “I was supposed to ask you what a ship name was. Is. Why are there ships?”

“That’s a deep question, Sami, and I don’t know if I have the answer for you, but just like KimYe and the late, mourned Ambreigns, a ship name is a name for two people in a relationship. You combine their names, it means something.” Xavier squinted at him. “Did you really not know that?”

Sami folded his arms. “I just thought you did it for anybody.”

“Nope,” Xavier said. “It’s either for celebrities who are dating, or pairs that people wish or hope or fantasize are actually a couple.”

The redhead bit his lip. “Oh.” He paused. “So Sambrose means...me. and Dean. Together.”

“You’re getting it,” Xavier said.

Sami flushed red from his cheeks down to his chest, and he was suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless and wearing his ring gear. Xavier looked like he was suppressing a grin, but he didn’t say anything about it out loud.

“I’ve...got to go,” Sami said. “Thank you for...the information.”

“Any time,” said Xavier with a smile and a wave, walking off in the other direction.

Sami turned a corner and found himself alone. He took deep breaths. He thought about accidentally implying that he wanted to be boyfriends with the person he...legitimately fantasized about being boyfriends with. God, it sounded so childish when he put it that way, but it had been so long since he got to go on a date with a guy, hold a guy’s hand, kiss someone else with a beard, feel their bodies line up together...

These thoughts were not helping him calm down. He walked faster toward the locker room so he could take a cold shower, put on clean clothes, and go back to an empty hotel room before he caught a long flight back to the states with the rest of the roster in the morning.

And while he was carefully thinking about the Montreal Expos and cold showers, he nearly collided with Dean, coming out of the locker room with wet hair and a bag over his shoulder. They saw each other just in time. Dean looked up from his phone where he was texting, slowly, with a thumb. “Whoa there, hey!” He stumbled backward.

Sami put a hand against the cinder block wall. “Whoa, yourself, sorry.” His heart hammered in his chest.

“Hey, Zayn, I was going to ask you something. Are you...you know?” Dean paused and Sami’s heart dropped to his feet like a stone. “Canadian?” Dean finished.

“No, of course not,” Sami replied, still thinking Dean was asking a different question.

“Oh, okay, never mind then,” Dean said, walking off in the other direction.

Sami shook his head. Why hadn’t he corrected himself? What was he afraid of if Dean had asked the other question, the one he had been avoiding for as long as he’d had this career? He went into the locker room and showered quickly. He avoided conversations with the rest of the roster and got dressed in a comfortingly worn band shirt (OR-7 for life) and sweatpants. He pulled the hood of a Habs sweatshirt over his head and headed back to his hotel.

***

Sami didn’t see a lot of Dean in the ring after that. Dean won his match at Payback and Sami lost; Sami kept feuding with Kev with the added complication of Cesaro being his friend but also mad at him for fucking up the IC title match out of rage, and also Miz because Miz is an asshole and the default state of almost everyone on the roster was “low-key feuding with Miz”.

But Sami did get to watch Dean in the ring, and as always, he was beautiful to behold. His face went from angelic to gaunt and terrifying depending on the way the light hit him, and he executed his moveset with confidence and power. Sami wondered what Dean would have been like if he had wrestled in a different era; this was a mental game that filled a lot of quiet time on long road trips, but he rarely shared it out loud with anyone else. It was easy to picture Dean in ECW and Sami was sure Dean had pictured himself in ECW; for pete’s sake, he had worked for CZW at the old ECW warehouse.

Sami leaned back in a folding chair backstage, watching Dean cut a promo on Chris Jericho, straight from the heart, talking about how Jericho wanted to take away everything that made Dean’s life meaningful. Sami wondered what Dean would look like in a 40’s style singlet, doing a strongman act, going from town to town performing. Maybe he would have been the plant in the crowd. Maybe he would never have found wrestling at all in an era before TV and endlessly passed-around VHS tapes of Bret Hart, which Sami himself had studied as carefully as Dean had.

“Um, that was a nice promo,” Sami said to Dean as they left the arena after the show that night.

“Thanks, man,” Dean said. “Not bad yourself. You really live the gimmick, know what I’m saying?”

Sami chuckled. “It’s just kinda who I am. Nice to be able to use it in the ring.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, wish I could say the same thing.”

“Sorry, I meant—”

“Naw, it’s cool, I just mean I don’t have quite as many rainbows and sunshine to pull from for, like, my character and shit, you know?” Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Not tryin to make you feel bad. Just a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” Sami sighed. “I mean, being a Muslim in the 2000’s wasn’t a real picnic either but I’m not going to complain too much, so many people had it worse…”

By then they had reached the doors of the arena. Dean walked out and held the door open for Sami, who followed.

“Yeah man,” Dean said, “I bet that was pretty fucked up.” Dean squinted out into the parking long. “Who you riding with tonight?”

Sami frowned. “Claudio, I thought.”

“Dude, he left half an hour ago.”

“Dammit.”

“S’okay,” Dean said, retrieving a set of keys from his pocket and swinging them around his finger playfully. “I splurged and got my own ride this time. I’m heading out tonight though, if that’s okay.”

“I was winging it on hotel reservations, to be quite honest, so as long as you don’t mind bunking up…”

Dean shrugged. “I snore.”

“So do I,” Sami said, laughing sheepishly.

“Cool. C’mon,” Dean said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and heading off into the parking garage to get the car. Sami felt a thrill go through him, but he tamped it down. This was just friendly colleague shit. Still, it was nice to have a friendly colleague, even if he was hot like burning and Sami wanted to lick his eyeballs.

Dean hit a button and the trunk on a white Chevy Malibu popped open. They threw their stuff in, and Sami got in the passenger seat. As soon as Dean started the car and backed out, Sami began fiddling with the console, trying to hook his phone up to the bluetooth or the USB drive or something. Music would make Sami feel more normal. It always did. He was prepared at all times to have something to listen to to calm him down when he was nervous, or pump him up when he was depressed.

Sami punched a button on the console, adjusted a knob, and the first song on his “post-show driving jams” playlist blared to life: a ska cover of “Build Me Up Buttercup” he had downloaded from Kazaa many years ago, and was still not sure of the real artist.

“The fuck is this,” Dean said, looking over his shoulder and straightening the car. The vehicle lurched as he put it into drive.

“It’s just—” Sami tried to answer but they both lurched as Dean went over a speedbump with some torque.

“It’s ska,” Sami finished.

“But what  _ is _ it,” Dean asked again.

“...um. Carribean-inflected pop punk with brass or saxophone sometimes? I guess? Deep question. What  _ is _ ska?”

“No, how is it playing on the car radio.” Dean waved at the center console.

“Oh, I got my phone’s Bluetooth connected to the car so we can listen to whatever.”

Dean’s eyes got wide. “Black magic.”

“No, Bluetooth,” Sami repeated, patiently. “I have my lightning cable too. And a book of CDs in my bag, to be honest. I like to be prepared.”

Dean stuck out his bottom lip. “Good to know. Got any country on there?”

“...I don’t think so,” Sami said.

“You sure? Nothing, like, Willie Nelson even?”

“I might have some Johnny Cash covers,” Sami said, picking up his phone and thumbing through his music library.

“Covers by Johnny Cash, or  _ of _ Johnny Cash?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“Both, I think.” He tapped the screen and a different song came on. “Actually, I feel like I know what you’re looking for.” “When The Man Comes Around” started up, beginning with the spooky spoken word opening. Once the music kicked in, Dean nodded his head, keeping time with the song.

“Yeah,” he said, looking off into the distance. “Yeah, this is good stuff.”

They listened to the rest of the Johnny Cash on Sami’s phone, which was only a handful of songs, and then Sami took over, trying to DJ individual songs for Dean.

“Here, this is Jesse Morris,” Sami said.

Someone began to sing an old Black Flag song, bluesy, with just a guitar.

“That fucking sounds like Johnny Cash.” Dean squinted out at the road.

“He was a great tribute artist. Died a few years ago. Suicide, actually. It was really sad. I’ve got everything of his that I could find. Had to rip the sound out of a few Youtube videos, but it was worth it.”

Their conversation dropped off as they listened to the music. More music by the same artist came up after, and Dean listened to them all without complaint or comment.

Sami turned the music off after that; they still had about two more hours to get to the next town, but they’d be able to sleep in once they were there.

Sami watched Dean drum his fingers on the steering wheel and roll his head to the left and right. He rolled his shoulders forward and backward and rocked forward, then back an equal number of times. Then he was still again. Sami let out a soft sigh, and Dean glanced over at him. “What are you looking at?”

“Sorry,” Sami said, snapping back to look at the screen of his phone.

Dean took a deep breath in and then let it out. “Got any more tunes on that thing?”

“Loads.”

“Got any Bob Seger?”

“Um, lemme check.” Sami flicked his left thumb to scroll through the music by artist. “Not seeing anything; couple of covers but that’s probably not what you’re looking for.”

Dean huffed. “I left my CDs at home this trip. Took ‘em out of my bag at home and fuckin’ forgot ‘em. Makes me nuts. Hard to concentrate on the road without the right tunes. Could try to find a country radio station but it’s not the same. Gotta listen to those fuckin’ DJs that never shut up. Ya know?”

Sami felt a pang of sympathy deep between his shoulder blades. “Yeah. Hey, I’ve got OK signal. I could download something.” He pulled up the iTunes store. “Greatest hits okay?”

“Sure!” Dean perked up. “You’d really do that? It cost you money?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” Sami said, shrugging.

“I’ll get you back. I’ll pay you back in beer—wait, you don’t drink, what do you want, like food?”

“Sure. Get my next meal.”

“Don’t order a steak.”

Sami tapped at his phone screen. “I will order a reasonable food product. I will get, like, a milkshake and fries.” The album started to download. He liked to shop for music on the fly, so he knew the drill. “It will take a little while.”

Dean nodded. “Gotta fetch the files out of the cloud and...beam them.  Beam that shit down, right to you. Black magic.”

“I’d never practice black magic, you gotta know me that well at least,” Sami said, grinning.

Dean laughed, one sharp bark followed by a giggle that shook his shoulders. He changed lanes, getting around a slow truck. “Yeah, you’re not exactly the Sauronumort..auron...uman..nomicon type.” As Dean dragged the name out, Sami started laughing hard and the longer Dean took, the more Sami’s sides ached.

“I don’t even know what you were trying to say so I can’t correct you,” Sami wheezed out. His phone chirped. “Oh, the music’s downloaded. Do you care about the track order on this should I just hit shuffle?”

“Play Night Moves,” Dean said.

“Night Moves it is,” Sami said, selecting the song.

Dean’s face lit up with delight as soon as it started playing, and Sami knew it had been the right decision to indulge and use up a bunch of data to download the album on the fly. The first verse felt like it was winding around the two of them: Sami had heard the song but it felt totally new hearing it with someone who cared about it.

“Working on our night moves,” Dean sang as the chorus came up. “Tryin’ to make some front page drive in news.”

Once that song was over, Sami put the whole thing on shuffle. Dean knew every word and every inflection, every improvised bit of vocal. Sami recognized someone who had listened to this exact album, every song on it, many times. When you knew an album well you could fit your body to it like the album had a shape; you could wear it around you, slip your arms into it. Even if you couldn’t dance, when you knew a piece of music well, every motion you make is a dance step to it. Dean’s driving was like a dance, fitting in with the rhythm of the cover of “C’est La Vie” and “Hollywood Nights.” And with every beloved song Sami saw Dean sing along to, he fell a little bit more in love with Dean Ambrose.

***

They hit the hotel late; checked in; hauled their shit up to a room with two beds like all the others, coffee maker, road soap, free HBO.

“Getting tired of the WWE road life yet?” Dean asked, collapsing down on a bed.

“I don’t think so,” Sami said. He took off his jacket and hat and laid them over a chair.

“Liar,” Dean said. “Shit makes you tired right away. Everybody’s always tired of it.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” Sami said. “I worked my whole career for this. And then being away from it for, geez, seven months? I’m ready to rock and roll.”

Dean just smiled out of one side of his mouth and shook his head. His dimple stood out in the dim lighting of the few lamps they had turned on.

“Does get a little lonely,” Sami ventured. He wanted to kiss Dean so much right now, wanted to hold the back of his head, and back him up against a wall, and make out like a damn teenager. The distance between the two beds felt like nothing and a million miles all at once.

“Good thing you got me to keep you company,” Dean said. He kicked off his shoes and let them drop to the floor with a thud.

“Good thing,” Sami said, raising his eyebrows. Inside his own head, he wasn’t sure it was at all.

***

Sami caught back up with Claudio who was very sorry for ditching him, and apologized totally insincerely. What was he up to?

Meanwhile, road life went on. Raw, Smackdown, back to his shitty apartment, house shows, Raw again. Extreme Rules came and went; everyone still hated Miz but now they were a little mad at Sami too, for going after Kevin instead of focusing on the damn title.

Sami saw Jericho come out of the Asylum match with 69 thumbtacks in his back and secretly cheered in his heart. Dean stuck it to him, old-school. When he tried to congratulate Dean backstage, though, he was distracted and barely noticed Sami.

In the lead up to Money in the Bank, Sami hoped to see a lot more of Dean. They both qualified for the ladder match on the next Raw. Sami was ecstatic after he hit his Helluva Kick on Sheamus and got the pin, eliminating the bastard who won the damn briefcase last year, who cashed it in and became champion.

Sami danced out of the ring and down the ramp, hugging himself and barely able to believe his good fortune. He hugged everyone he saw backstage, picking up JoJo and swinging her up into the air, leaning down bro-hug Kalisto and then running smack into Dean, wrapping his arms around him and spinning around in a circle a few times before letting go and realizing, with a little horror, that he had done the thing. Dean smiled at him weakly. “Good job, Zayn. Um. They got that good cheesecake in catering today, gonna go get some before I’m up.” Then Dean turned and walked away purposefully, like cheesecake was a super urgent matter. Sami’s arms felt empty. What had he done?

Sami watched on the monitors later that night as Dean got a clean win over Dolph Ziggler (thank god) and qualified. Dean was moving slower than usual and the two men seemed out of sync. Dean looked happy but exhausted at the end of the match.

Sami stood off to the side in a hallway as Dean gave a backstage interview to Michael Cole afterward, promising to go up some ladders and go down some ladders, sounding more tired and checked out that he had heard Dean sound possibly ever.

Sami caught him afterwards, on his way to hit the showers. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Why do you have to be so fucking nice?” Dean snapped.

Sami frowned at him. “Want me to be mean? You sounded bored as shit in that interview. What the hell?”

“I been to this dance before, Sami.” He shook his head and started to walk away.

“No, don’t walk away, I thought we were friends, talk to me.”

Dean spun around “I’m always the guy who’s this close from the championship,” he spat, holding his up his fingers a fraction of an inch apart. “It’s my fucking gimmick, I’m a loser. Just a lovable fucking loser, that’s me! Too crazy to know when to quit.”

“Well then that makes two of us,” Sami said firmly. “Because you’re not quitting, and I’m not quitting, and we’re going to go up some ladders and down some ladders and jump off some ladders, together.”

Sami stuck out his hand. Dean stared at it for a second, then grasped it, warily. Sami pulled him in for a hug, and Dean cautiously reciprocated, each of them slapping each other on the back to signal that this was, in fact, not gay at all, despite Sami getting a whiff of the ring sweat off of Dean’s hair and sodden shirt and feeling that familiar tightness in his own chest.

They pulled apart as Cesaro emerged from the locker room, hauling his bags. “Gentlemen! I was wondering if it would be possible to make an arrangement.”

“Indecent proposal time, I knew it was coming. Name your price, brother.” Dean stared levelly at his bald colleague.

“Um. That is not what I was referring to. I was requesting an exchange of roommates?”

Sami rolled his eyes.

“Like I said, name your price. You can have him for five million dollars,” Dean said, gesturing to Sami.

“ _ He’s _ trying to get rid of  _ me _ , Dean.”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll take him off your hands for free,” Dean said.

Sami looked back and forth between them in a fit of pique. “Claudio, don’t agree to room with me if you don’t want to room with me. It’s a good thing Dean keeps having space for me.”

“Maybe you two should just travel together,” Cesaro said. “Like, on purpose. I think you are good for each other.” He left, walking past them, patting Sami on the shoulder as he went.

“You really think you could get five million dollars for me?” Sami asked Dean.

“Shit yeah, Zayn, you’re a real catch! Now wait up for me, I gotta go wash the sweat off my, you know.” Dean adjusted himself. “Unless you want to help.” Dean gave him the same level gaze he gave Cesaro when trying to sell him Sami’s body.

“You got five million dollars?” Sami cocked an eyebrow.

“Not until payday,” Dean said.

“I could probably cut you a discount,” Sami said, and then realized how close to the flirting line he was, how far they had stepped over into what really seemed like flirting territory.

“You’re busting my balls here, Zayn!”

“I thought I was washing your balls!” Sami threw up his hands and walked away.

“Well you’re not now! I’ll wash my own balls!” Dean shouted. He paused. “Don’t leave without me!” he finished, then headed into the lockers.

Sami really debated turning back around, but Dean had to be joking, right? He was always kidding around like this. Unless he wasn’t. Straight people were fucking confusing, unless he really wasn’t straight, in which case Sami was being flirted with and he kept missing it.

“Deep breath,” he said to himself, and headed back to catering to grab some cheesecake before they headed out.

***

“Zayn!” He turned around at the sound of his voice.

Stephanie McMahon was standing around with a clipboard, looking irritated. “Change of card. You’re tagging with Ambrose for Smackdown tomorrow. Sorry it’s last minute. And Ambrose.” She gave him a sympathetic look.

“Hey, Dean’s my friend. He’s a great worker, I’ll tag with him any time.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll keep that in mind. You guys ever decide on a tag team name?”

“Sambrose,” Sami blurted out without thinking.

“Great,” she said, making notes on the clipboard and walking away.

Sami’s heart sped up. He sat down on a folding chair and shoved the rest of his cheesecake into his mouth, which was a bad idea because he started to choke. He stood up to grab a Dr. Pepper but nearly bowled over Summer Rae, but because he was choking he couldn’t apologize.

Someone pounded him on the back, which didn’t help, but swallowing the soda did. He stood up, eyes streaming tears. “Hi, Dean.”

“Ready to go?”

Sami coughed more, and swallowed. “Sure. Sorry Summer! I was dying! Yeah, I’m alive, we can go. That cheesecake almost did me in. Well, it was actually...nevermind.”

Dean pressed his lips together.

“We’re tagging together tomorrow,” Sami said.

“The Rough Riders ride again.”

“Something like that,” Sami sighed.

Dean grabbed Sami’s suitcase with his free hand and gestured toward the door with his head. Sami cocked his head and watched Dean walk away, then followed.

***

Dean had sprung for satellite radio in this latest rental car, and they agreed quickly on the Classic Vinyl station for the relatively short ride they had. The weather was unseasonably warm and they cracked the windows, belting out the words to Jack and Diane when it came on.

“What do you think about sasquatches?” Dean asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Not sure. Why.”

“They’re fucking real, is why. Next time I get the chance, I’m going out looking for them.”

“Where do you go looking for something like that?” Sami asked, not sure how polite he had to be about the topic.

“Bumfuck nowhere, out in the woods. Gonna try Oregon. Never spent much time there.”

“Me neither,” Sami said. He strung out a pause, but it looked like it was up to him to continue the conversation. “What about ghosts?” he asked.

“Yeah, man. Ghosts are real.” Dean nodded and stared off into the distance at the road.

“Ghosts  _ are  _ real,” Sami echoed. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Yeah. Somebody I knew when I was a kid, I swear to god I saw them wandering around the neighborhood, the parking lot where we used to hang out. But when I tried to talk to them they just vanished and I remembered they got shot and...yeah, I believe in ghosts.”

“You ever been to a haunted venue?” Sami asked. “There’s this theater in this little town in Ontario I used to do shows at that had a ghost. Like, one of those ones where the ghost has a name and everybody knows about it?”

Dean grunted an agreement.

“The ghost’s name was Clyde, and he would fucking move your stuff while you weren’t looking, or make sudden banging noises, and sometimes there would be dirty footprints or doors slamming or lights going on and off, stuff like that? I saw it once. My shit moved clear across the room while I wasn’t looking and I was the only person around. Couldn’t fucking believe it, you know? The world is so amazing.”

Dean spotted the exit for their hotel and moved to get off the expressway.

“Do you want to ride with me more?” Dean asked.

Sami got a funny feeling in his chest, like this was a trap, but Dean wouldn’t do something like that, would he? “I like riding with you, Dean, I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I like you fine. Do you like to do weird shit sometimes?”

Sami narrowed his eyebrows. “Like what,” he said flatly.

“Biggest ball of twine in Texas, mystery spot, taxidermy museum, Feast of Birds, Potato Festival, all that kind of small town random shit. I love that stuff but nobody ever wants to come with.” Dean changed lanes and got off the ramp.

“I would love to go to the Potato Festival with you,” Sami said. “I love potatoes.”

“Potatoes are fucking great. I went to this one, the kids made potato dioramas? And there was a potato parade? I love that shit.” They saw the lights of their hotel on the right and Dean turned into the parking lot.

“You can probably afford not to have a roommate,” Sami said.

“You’re probably right,” Dean said, “but I need a chaperone.”

“Don’t wanna get too nuts at the Potato Festival,” Sami laughed.

“Start a potato fight.” Dean put the car in park and turned off the ignition. He hopped out.

Sami snapped off his seat belt and followed. “Gotta be careful with that, might become a tradition. Second Annual Dean Ambrose Memorial Potato Brawl,” Sami said. By the time he was out of the car, Dean had already grabbed both of their suitcases and shut the trunk.

Once inside, Sami spaced out while Dean talked to the woman at the counter, until he saw Dean lean against the counter and cock his head. He stared talking with his hands, and Sami got worried.

“What’s up? Sami asked, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“This reservation is totally jacked up.”

“Sorry sir, there was a wedding here this evening and they booked up an enormous block of rooms. We have you down for a non-smoking, one king jacuzzi suite. I see your reservation in the computer with a special note...ah yes, it’s been paid in full in advance on the card of Claudio Cesaro.”

“One king bed?” Dean asked back.

“There’s also a pull-out couch in the sitting area,” the woman at the desk offered.

“Dean, that sounds fine. We basically got a free hot tub for the night on Cesaro’s dime. Ma'am, we’ll take the room.” Sami rubbed his hand back and forth on Dean’s tense shoulder, and Dean dropped his head.

“Yeah, fine,” he said, pushing forward his credit card on the counter for incidentals. The woman swiped a few cards, pushed some buttons and in another minute, she was handing them keycards and the wifi password and the room service menu.

They walked away, but she called after them. “Gentlemen?”

Sami turned around first. “Yes?”

The clerk blushed. “Good luck at Money in the Bank. You’re my favorites.”

Dean whipped around. “We’re going to climb the shit out of those ladders,” he said firmly.

“Thanks,” Sami said to the clerk warmly.

It was a very nice room, decorated in a squarish modern style, with a glassed off area in the corner holding the jacuzzi.

“Shit,” Dean said, looking around.

“Makes a man feel like five million bucks,” Sami said. They looked at each other. Dean was wide-eyed, like he was caught doing something naughty. Sami held his gaze for seconds, until they both cracked.

They laughed, Dean dropping his suitcase and leaning on the couch to catch his breath, and Sami wiping tears out of his eyes.

“I have an indecent proposal, let’s use that fucking hot tub.”

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” Sami said. He inspected the fold-out couch, pulling off cushions and looking inside.

“You don’t have to wear a bathing suit, it’s a private fucking jacuzzi.” Dean dragged his stuff off into the sleeping area.

“Well I’m not wearing my workout clothes into it, that’s gross.”

Dean returned from the other area of the room with his shirt already off, kicking off his shoes and taking his belt off.

“Yeah, you don’t wear clothes into it, Sami, that’s the point.” Dean dropped his jeans and was standing there in his black boxer briefs. Sami’s eyes went wide.

“Um, cool, I guess.” He scratched the back of his head and failed to not stare at Dean’s chest and abs and thighs and definitely not his groin, oh yes, his groin.

“You coming?” Dean asked over his shoulder as he strode purposefully toward the glass enclosure.

Sami swallowed hard. This was a dangerous offer. This could end badly. Or it could end well. Or absolutely nothing could happen, Dean could talk about baseball the whole time and they would go to bed and get up and eat breakfast and work out and wrestle as a tag team tomorrow with no problems at all. Keep it kayfabe.

“This isn’t going to make tagging with me tomorrow weird, is it?” Sami said.

“Dude, it’s a hot tub. If you don’t like hot tubs, you don’t have to come in, but it’s been a fucking long day and I’m gonna kick back.” Facing away from Sami, Dean dropped his underwear and flicked it away. He stepped up to the tub and stopped. “Fuck,” he said.

“What?” Sami asked, coming closer.

“Empty pool,” Dean said.

“...so turn the water on, smart guy. It’s a tub.”

“How am I supposed to know it’s not like the chlorine one down by the hotel pool?” Dean shot back. Then he bent over to fiddle with the controls on the jacuzzi, more complicated than they really seemed like they should be. His naked ass was fully exposed and Sami found himself staring. Dammit.

Dean got the water running to fill the tub and hastily wrapped a towel around himself before coming back to sit on the couch next to Sami. “Guess we wait,” Dean shrugged.

“Guess so.”

“What number is Travel Channel?”

“Lemme see.” Sami turned on the tv and found a menu. “Looks like there’s a Forensic Files marathon, um, NCIS. Not seeing Ghost Hunters...oh wait, there it is.” Sami brought it up to a show in-progress.

“Ooh, they’re at one of those Kirkbride Plan asylums. Oh shit, the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum! I always wanted to go there.”

“Really?” Sami asked.

“You know, for a ghost tour. Who better to talk to crazy ghosts than the crazy living,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“Huh,” Sami responded. “Never thought about it that way.”

“You can come too. I think the ghosts would like you. Real honest guy, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sami said neutrally, feeling shame flickering in his solar plexus. An honest guy totally stares at his tag team partner’s naked ass. But they were sitting pretty close on the couch, and it wasn’t so hard. It felt easy to be together, heckling the paranormal investigators.

“This show is totally a work,” Sami said.

“It is  _ not _ ,” Dean insisted.

“Just because it’s a work doesn’t mean it’s not real, it’s just... _ worked _ , Dean you know what that means.”

They heard a noise from the electronic controls of the tub. “Think that means it’s ready,” Dean said. “Do you think you can see the TV from over here?”

“Um, I think so,” Sami said.

“Sami! We can watch Ghost Hunters and sit in the hot tub and...that’s about as far as the plan went but come on. Peer pressure.”

Dean hopped up from the couch, dropped the towel as he went, and hopped over the edge of the tub. There was a gentle splash and Dean sighed.

“That...sounds all right,” Sami said to the ghost of Dean’s ass, disappeared into the water.

“Come on and get in here, and bring the remote.”

Sami grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around himself before dropping his pants and boxers and folding them neatly as well. He slid into the water carefully to avoid flashing his coworker/desperate crush.

So they sat in the bubbling, jet-filled hot tub, at first facing each other, but that way Sami couldn’t see the TV, and he did really want to watch Ghost Hunters, so he came around to sit next to Dean. It was close—very close, like the entire purpose of this tub was to get two people to sit very close to each other while warm water bubbled around them and jets pushed at their nethers and currents guided them gently into each other. It was the honeymoon suite, after all. And it was nice. Sami felt like most of his human contact for the longest time was a suplex, a senton, a forearm strike to the chest. Here they sat, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip.

On TV, a guy with a digital recorder tried to talk to ghosts on the tv, asking inane questions and waiting, hoping to catch an EVP from a murdered former resident or a child dead from tuberculosis or whatever they were after this episode. The camera went shaky and they scattered, claiming to feel something move past their leg.

“Something just moved past my leg!” said Dean suddenly, moving fast and sloshing water over the edge of the hot tub onto the decorated tile floor.

“What, where!” Sami went to stand up but Dean put a hand out to stop him.

“I’m joking, no tub sharks. Well, other than the two of us chucklefucks.” Sami felt Dean’s hand on his arm and scooted away. “Come on, relax, why are you so tense?”

A million answers popped into Sami’s head. Because I want to kiss you and here we are, two dudes being guys, naked together? Because I love every single thing about you, even the way you snore? Because I want to break kayfabe and tell you I love you?

“Why do you think, Dean?”

“So am I going to have to make the first move then?” Dean asked back.

“Yes,” Sami snapped without thinking, then froze. Dean smiled lopsidedly, biting his lip.

Sami looked at Dean with longing and fear, like he was about to jump out of an airplane and Dean was the rush of freedom and flying but also the ground.

Dean surged forward through the roiling water and caught Sami’s mouth in a kiss, his stubble and Sami’s beard catching and prickling against each other. Sami felt the rush. Dean cradled his face with his hands and got his knees up on the bench, and Sami put his hands on Dean’s waist, nearly spanning it. Dean’s erection brushed his leg and Sami didn’t know whether to try to pull his parachute cord or just let them collide. It was an imperfect metaphor. Did the parachute mean having sex or  _ not _ having sex?

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, pulling away and looking him in the eye. His eyebrows drew together.

“Just thinking about skydiving?” Sami said.

Dean gave him a puzzled smile and kissed him again, pecking at his lips and nibbling down to his neck. Dean sucked at the join between Sami’s neck and shoulder, and Sami moaned involuntarily.

“Yeah, that trick always works,” said Dean, nosing the spot and licking it wetly. Sami’s body broke out in goosebumps and he felt achingly hard.

“What are we  _ doing _ ?” Sami asked.

“Just blowing off steam,” Dean said. “No big deal, right?”

“Kinda seems like a big deal,” Sami groaned as Dean shifted his hips to grind his dick up against Sami’s pelvis.

“Not a big casual sex guy?” Dean asked, biting back a wicked grin and failing, his dimple standing out.

“Sex is the least casual thing I could imagine doing. Okay, maybe eating lobster. Then sex.” The heat of the water hid any blushing Sami might be doing for other reasons.

“Yeah those little forks are weird, right?” Dean said.

“I hate them, and it’s so messy but you’re always dressed up because it’s fancy?” Sami shook his head. “Sorry. You were trying to...do sex with me and I just...you know. I talk.”

“I like it,” Dean said. “Don’t stop.” Dean went back to grinding against him and kissing him wherever he could reach. Sami wrapped his arms around Dean, running his fingers through his hair and trying to keep up with his rhythm.

“How many other people do you think have, um, casual sexed in this hot tub?”

Dean came up for air. “It’s the honeymoon suite, Zayn, honeymoons are hardly casual.”

“How well do you think they clean it?”

Dean shrugged. “Tile’s easy to disinfect. Probably cleaned more often than half the locker rooms we change in.”

“Think people are jizzing in those showers too?” Sami asked, wrapping one leg around Dean’s. They shifted, Dean leaning more of his weight onto Sami, and water splashed over the edge of the hot tub.

“I know I have,” Dean said. He kissed Sami’s surprised expression right off of him, and as he sucked Sami’s bottom lip into his mouth, he wrapped a hand around both of their cocks, stroking them hard, together. Dean kissed with his eyes open and Sami was suddenly thrilled to see and be seen by this man.

Sami’s hand joined Dean’s, covering it and closing the circle. They stroked in time, their bodies slick against each other. Sami’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned softly, muttering encouragements. “Dean, oh, Dean, yes, please.” He rested his forehead against Dean’s shoulder as he trembled and he shouted wordlessly as he came. Dean brushed his hand away and took over stroking him through his shuddering release. When Sami was spent and too sensitive to be touched, Dean withdrew his hand for a tight embrace.

After a minute, Sami’s hand went back to Dean’s still-hard cock, but Dean brushed him away.

Sami looked up, looking surprised, then confused, then excited.

“Do you wanna...” Dean started.

“Yes,” Sami said.

“I didn’t say what I was going to ask,” Dean said, suppressing a grin with surprising shyness.

“I wanna do whatever you want to do,” Sami insisted. His heart raced.

“Sami, I want to fuck you so bad I’m losing my mind,” Dean said seriously.

“Really?” Sami’s eyebrows shot up.

Dean looked to both sides then back at Sami. “Yeah. Is that a surprise?”

Sami’s eyes went skyward, then downward, then back at Dean. “Maybe it shouldn’t be. I’m not good at this. Out of practice. Haven’t let myself practice.”

“I’m a little rusty myself.”

“Then let’s go, right?”

Dean’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t have any condoms,” he said nervously.

“This is the honeymoon suite, dude, they probably got some in a welcome basket or something. Don’t you have any in your wallet?”

“Like I said, out of practice.” Dean stood up out of the tub, water streaming off of him, and he turned to get out. Sami watched the curve of his criminally tiny ass as he grabbed a towel and didn’t use it much. He dripped water as he wandered over to the other part of the bathroom with the shower.

“There’s a basket here...there’s a card?” Sami heard Dean tearing it open. “It says, ‘You kids have fun, love Claudio,’ and it’s full of...jesus.”

Sami’s eyes went wide. “This was a setup.”

Dean stuck his head out of the bathroom and looked at Sami. “I don’t know whether to kill him or kiss him.”

“Hey, you’re not even done kissing  _ me  _ yet,” Sami said with mock injury, the words feeling strange in his mouth. Kissing.

Dean emerged carrying a tulle-wrapped basket with wedding decoration on it. “Goddamn honeymoon suite, I should have fucking known.”

Sami stood up but Dean guided him gently back into the tub. “No, not yet.”

Sami sat in the water, wide-eyed. Dean produced a bar of hotel soap along with the ludicrously wrapped gift basket. He put the basket on the floor and hopped back into the hot tub.

“Here’s what I like to do,” Dean rasped. “I do stuff, I say exactly what I’m going to do before I do it. You tell me how it feels. That okay?”

“Yeah,” Sami said.

“I’m gonna finger your asshole right now, and I’m gonna get it real clean. Then we’re going to go to the bed and I’m going to eat your ass. Then I’m going to fuck you.”

Sami’s jaw dropped and his dick twitched. He felt himself salivating, too, for some reason.

“Your turn,” Dean said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Dean, the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done was jerk off in the back row of a movie theater showing X-2 because I thought Hugh Jackman was super hot.” Sami ran a hand over his face.

“But what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever  _ thought _ of doing,” Dean asked. “That says a lot more.”

Sami’s brow furrowed. “God, I don’t even know, I—” The water splashed as Dean got in the tub. “Maybe sixty-nining a guy? And spitting his load back into his mouth while he did the same thing?”

“Isn’t that a Rusty Venture?” Dean asked.

“They never really solved that mystery. Ugh, I’m sorry, WHOA.” Dean’s slippery fingers probed Sami’s asshole.

“You like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. And quit apologizing. We’re just having fun.”

“Sorry. I mean, okay. I mean, oh god, that feels so good.”

“You ever finger yourself?” Dean leered. “Get yourself good and worked up while you jerk off thinking about me?”

“How did you know?” Sami blushed.

“Lucky guess,” Dean shrugged. He rubbed the bar of soap up and down the crack of Sami’s ass and stroked with his fingers.

“What do you fantasize about?” Sami asked.

“Lots of stuff. You know, girls, guys, aliens, the usual.” He grinned out of the side of his mouth and leaned in to kiss Sami. Their lips locked as Dean slid the tip of his finger in and out, slowly working him open. Sami could feel Dean’s cock rub against his thigh and he glanced down at it: dark and veined and hard iron wrapped in velvet, and Sami wanted it. He let himself want it. Dean wanted it too.

Dean pulled back a fraction to take a breath. Their noses brushed.

“I never thought you would want this,” Sami said, blinking like it would make this more real.

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Dean said. “No, I know the answer to that. Come on, kid, I think you’re ready.” He stood up, suddenly, his cock bobbing, and he pulled Sami to his feet. They dried off sloppily as they staggered over to the bed, clutching fluffy white towels and the basket.

Dean threw off the decorative coverlet. “Lay down on your stomach,” he said.

Sami complied.

Dean was gleeful, his eyes blazing like they did in the heat of a really stiff match. He swayed back and forth and moved his hands restlessly.

“Go for it, Deano,” Sami said. Dean laughed and dove onto him, swiping a lick all the way up the crack of his ass to the base of his back. Sami shivered. Dean did it again, and Sami thrashed.

“How does it feel?” Dean asked.

“Glorious,” Sami said. “Do it again.”

Dean swiped up and down. Sami felt something wet drizzle onto him.

“That’s banana flavored lube, courtesy of the honeymoon suite,” Dean said. And when Dean went back to work, the lube felt deliciously wet all over and inside Sami’s body, the point of Dean’s tongue probing him and opening him.

Sami felt himself getting hard again. He clutched at the pillows and tried not to kick his legs too much, but it was hard to stay still when you felt this good. He wished he could dance. There would be plenty of time for dancing later, though.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Dean said, drawing back.

“Ska,” Sami said absentmindedly.

Dean snorted a laugh. Sami heard the basket rustle and the sound of something being torn open. He turned around to see Dean rolling on a condom one-handed and pinching up the tip.

“Ready, tiger?” Dean asked.

“Who’s ever ready?” Sami asked back.

“...is that a yes or a no,” Dean deadpanned.

“Yes.”

“Great. C’mere.” Dean crawled forward toward Sami on the bed and Sami scooted back against the giant pile of decorative throw pillows.

Dean gently spread Sami’s legs, and leaned over him, eyes dark, as he positioned himself at Sami’s entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you, and make you come one more time tonight. You’re going to say my name when you come. I’ll do the same for you.”

Sami nodded frantically. Dean pressed in, and it was everything Sami had dreamed of and desperately longed for since he had first locked eyes with the man. Sami moaned wordlessly, pounding a fist into the pillows and then grabbing Dean’s head with both hands. He kissed him frantically, disregarding where he had just been, and tasted banana and the hot slickness of Dean’s tongue. They pressed into each other’s mouths as Dean ground in and out, nailing the spot inside Sami that he reached for when he fingered himself. Sami saw stars.

“It’s fucking amazing, Dean,” Sami choked out, feeling emotional all of a sudden. He buried his face in Dean’s shoulder to hide a few stray tears that escaped. Dean slowed but didn’t stop, gently wrapping his arms around Sami’s body to hold him close.

“I got you, kid, I’m gonna take real good care of you, make you feel good,” Dean said into his ear. “Don’t have to worry about nothing when I’m around.”

Sami’s spine felt like jelly. He struggled to ground himself and hang on to Dean until he couldn’t anymore and let go. But Dean didn’t let go, and Sami moved with him, in sync.

Dean shifted his hips and Sami shouted, French and Arabic curses escaping him in ecstasy. The more Sami shouted, the faster and harder Dean rammed into him, turning him inside out with every stroke. It was then that Dean got a hand around Sami’s cock and stroked that in turn, looking Sami in the eye and grinning. Sami’s eyes went wide and he was at a loss for what else to say.

“Say my name,” Dean whispered.

“Dean,” Sami breathed.

“Again.”

“Dean.”

“You can do better than that,” Dean said, stroking Sami faster and harder with his hand. “Come and say my name.”

Sami shuddered in a breath, feeling his balls draw up. “Dean, Dean, Dean!” he shout-sobbed as he came over Dean’s hand and chest. Dean stroked him through it, not breaking eye contact, grinning like a hungry animal. When Sami had fully spent himself, Dean propped himself up on both arms and went to work. Finally, his eyes flickered closed as he pressed his forehead against Sami’s.

“Sami.” Dean grunted and clutched Sami’s arms as he came hard and fast. “Zayn.” He dropped his head against the pillow and collapsed on top of the other man.

***

Sami woke up slowly, feeling sticky and out of sorts. It dawned on him that his face was buried in someone else’s hair. Dean. Dean’s hair..

Dean stirred in Sami’s arms, rolling to face him.

“You do look like a baby deer,” Sami said with a small smile.

Dean wiped a string of drool off of his mouth with the corner of the bedsheet. “I should have known you were going to be a cuddler.”

“I’ll cuddle anyone,” Sami said. “Day or night.”

Dean closed his eyes again, grabbing a fistful of blankets and pulling them up around him. He nestled in against Sami’s chest. “Do your worst.”

***

Eventually they got dressed, getting ready to work out and eat and breathe a little before they had to tape Smackdown.

“I know from experience, you gotta let each other get your head back in the game after...something like that. Especially when it was that…” Dean trailed off, looking for a word.

“Good?” Sami said hopefully.

Dean smiled. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Sami beamed and ducked his head.

“Tell me this isn’t a one-time thing,” Dean said casually.

“I’m not a one-and-done kind of guy, Dean,” Sami said.

“I try not to be either.” Dean smiled a little and laughed. “Sambrose, baby.”

“It’s totally a ship,” Sami said.

***

Sami was a man who smiled a lot, but he felt like even his most cautious joy was plainly something new to everyone around him when he arrived at the venue for call time.

When he got there, Dean had already cornered Claudio. “What the hell was that?” Sami heard Dean ask.

“Did it work?” he replied.

“None of your business,” Sami said, cutting in.

“It did work!” Cesaro said, his eyebrows shooting up.

Sami and Dean looked at each other. Sami chewed the inside of his cheek and let Dean answer.

“The hot tub was fun. But I’m not paying you back for the suite. Your own damn fault for paying it in advance and not using it. That’s all I got to say about last night.”

Cesaro gestured magnanimously. “Consider it an investment in your future happiness.” He gestured back and forth between them as he backed away and out of their reach.

***

Sambrose was a pretty decent tag team, aside from being a ship. They crushed Kev and Jericho and Kevin had a meltdown afterward, predictably.

And then Sami was home for two days, as home as his place in Winter Park ever felt. It was sparsely furnished and small, but it was nice to sleep in his own bed, though the last time he had been here he was jerking off with frustration and loneliness instead of anticipation.

He threw down his bags and collapsed onto the bed, and didn’t wake until he felt sunlight hitting his face. He felt around for his phone, which was in the pocket of the jacket he hadn’t even bothered to take off.

One missed call, one voicemail.

“Hey Sami, it’s me, Dean. Just got home, McCarran is such a butthole of an airport, I swear to god, but now I can fart in my own bathtub for two days or whatever. I’m probably gonna go for a run tomorrow out in the wilderness area. You ever gone trail running? It’s a good time, it’s a real good workout...”

The message rambled on until it cut off quickly.

Sami didn’t even know how to respond—should he call? Was Dean okay with texts? All he knew was that it wasn’t a one-time thing, because they said so. They hadn’t had a chance to make it a two time thing yet. But hearing Dean’s voice made a thread of warmth curl through his belly and made the back of his neck tingle. So he pressed the button to dial Dean’s number.

It rang and Sami felt apprehensive that this was too much but then—

“Y’ello?” a sleepy voice said.

“Hi Dean, it’s me, Sami.”

“I know who it is. What time is it?”

Sami looked at his phone, then put it back to his ear. “Nine thirty? I...oh.”

“Fucking time zones,” Dean said.

“I can call back later, I’m so sorry!”

“Nah, I gotta get up for an early run before it gets too sunny anyway. Nice to hear your voice.”

Sami got that warm feeling again. “Um, likewise. I got your voicemail.”

“Oh shit, I left you a long one, I was just feeling restless. Is that okay?”

Sami smiled and stretched out flat on the bed. “It’s fine. I could listen to you talk about anything.”

Dean snorted. “We’ll see. How are you feeling this morning, pretty ska?”

“Shut up,” Sami said, feeling himself redden.

“Nah, it was cute, I’m just messin with you.”

Despite Dean’s word that he needed to go run before the sun was up, they talked for an hour and didn’t run out of things to say, just phone battery with no charger nearby. When they hung up, Sami lay still in bed for another twenty minutes, feeling his world spin and finding he liked it.

***

Sami got in first for the Friday house show they were both working, got warmed up, got changed, and bounced around on the balls of his feet listening to some older Rancid on his headphones. He nearly knocked over a makeup table and they exiled him to another part of backstage.

Dean walked in and they both looked up to see each other at the same time.

“Sambrose,” Dean said, walking toward Sami, putting up a fist for a bump and grinning.

“Sambrose lives,” Sami said, knocking his knuckles against Dean’s.

“Get a room,” Kevin snapped from where he was standing around and talking with a few guys.

“I am certain they will,” Cesaro said, avoiding making eye contact.

Dean gestured toward the locker room with his head and Sami followed him there. It was empty. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Dean pressed Sami against a wall and kissed him until they were sure they would be missed.

***

They taped a Raw where all the MITB entrants cut a promo on each other, and Sami tried not to cringe too visibly when Dean started spouting off on Jericho and Kevin and all Canadians being untrustworthy.

“Dean,” Sami said, hoping he wasn’t blushing, “ _ I’m _ Canadian.”

Sami walked out quickly when they were finished with the segment, but Dean followed him.

“Why did you say you weren’t Canadian?” Dean asked him. “You told me to my face you weren’t.”

“What do you have against Canadians? We’re awesome,” Sami said, avoiding the question.

“Your money looks fake and you won’t let me bring nunchucks into your country, and Tim Horton’s sucks. And what’s up with that guy with the weird jackets, the one who’s not Jericho? I don’t trust him.”

“Don Cherry?” Sami asked.

“Sure.”

“Dean, Canada has a rich history of—”

“If it’s so rich, why did you lie about it?”

“Cause I thought you were going to ask me if I was gay!” Sami whispered forcefully, trying to avoid being heard by the various production assistants and gaffers and staff wandering around in the backstage area.

Now Dean looked really confused. “Okay, is this a bi erasure thing? Because Sasha sat me down and showed me some tumblr posts and it made a lot of sense when she explained it.”

“No, definitely not that,” Sami said. He picked at the tape on his wrists without taking it off and shuffled his feet, scuffing each one on the floor an even number of times. Dean looked around them and guided Sami around a corner to a quieter area.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m billed at six foot one, two hundred and twelve pounds, from Montreal, Quebec, Canada, and totally not gay at all. I just decided to live the gimmick. It was easier that way.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Lonely, though.”

Sami shrugged. “I was super sure I was in love with wrestling and that was good enough.”

“And now?”

Dean rested his hand gently against Sami’s waist, pulling them closer together, suspiciously close, especially since they were in a secluded dark corner, sheltered by a stack of black equipment cases. Sami’s back was against a concrete wall.

Sami swallowed hard. “Wrestling makes me  _ so _ happy, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, but. It can’t take me ghost hunting,” he said.

“Oh really,” said Dean.

“Wrestling doesn’t know all the words to Hollywood Nights. Wrestling doesn’t look back at me like I’m a real person. God, I’m not making sense. The canvas just...doesn’t love me back nearly as good as you do.” He looked up from his feet and met Dean’s soft blue eyes, crinkling with a smile about to break out.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dean said with a grin. He slipped his other hand behind Sami’s neck and went in for a kiss. He pressed Sami against the wall, hot and dirty, their teeth clicking together before Dean pulled back with a smack.

“This could really be something, kid,” Dean said, bemused.

“We’re going to have to work out your feelings on Tim Hortons, though dude, come on.”

“That coffee tastes like ass,” Dean said walking away but looking over his shoulder.

“You love a—” Sami was about to shout after him but stopped himself.

“I love  _ yours _ ,” Dean said.

***

They went back to their hotel together that night, getting a lot of significant glances from Cesaro that they each ignored.

They dropped their suitcases wordlessly in the room. Sami sat down to untie his sneakers. Dean paced the room and threw back the bedspread, punching a few pillows, trying to make it feel a little more like home, a little more like a nest and not just another place on the side of the road.

Sami and Dean fell into the bed tenderly, touching each other with gentleness, light fingers skirting over bruised muscles. They kissed like a throbbing heartbeat and Sami ground himself against Dean’s thigh, not even pretending to have the energy for much of a fuck tonight.

Dean eased Sami’s shirt off over his head, and then pulled off his own. Shirtless, they pressed warmly together, just clinging. Dean nosed at Sami’s beard, smiling slyly.

“What?” Sami said.

“I just like beards,” Dean said. Their cheeks rubbed together roughly.

Sami wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him behind his neck with one hand and at the small of his back with the other. Dean went to work on their pants. He got his own fly undone and kicked his jeans off. Sami wouldn’t let go of him, so he got Sami’s pants down too. Then they were laying there, still grinding against each other in their underwear. Sami was wearing Jurassic Park boxers and Dean had on some black boxer briefs.

“So where is this going tonight?” Sami asked.

“Why does it have to go anywhere?” Dean replied. “This feels pretty good.”

“It does.”

Dean twined a leg behind Sami’s knee and pulled him closer.

Sami rolled so he was on top. He bit his lip and pressed his forehead against Dean’s. “Is this really okay?”

Dean scrunched up his nose. “Why do you keep thinking there’s a wrong way to do this?”

“I don’t know. Inexperience. Anxiety. Fear.”

Dean reached his arms up and wrapped one around Sami’s body while brushing his hair back from his forehead with the other. “What have you go to be afraid of.”

Sami’s eyes went wide as he rolled them. He took in a breath to start listing fears, but Dean cut him off.

“I mean, what have I ever given you to be afraid of?” Dean’s eyes were a shade of sad on top of tender.

“Dean. Sometimes you just get afraid for no reason, you know that, you feel it too sometimes.” He rested his head in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“What can I do to make you feel hopeful?” Dean said.

“Win the briefcase,” Sami blurted out.

Dean frowned. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You want me to beat you.” Dean was still looking mighty skeptical.

“I want you to win. I’m not going to do anything to let you win, but...gold looks good on you.” Sami blushed and slid to the side to rest his hip on the bed, halfway spooning Dean.

“It looks pretty damn good on you too, Zayn, and you’ve seen less of it than me.”

“So you want me to tell you not to win?”

“Fuck no,” Dean said. “Geez, we both just do our best and try not to think about it too much, I guess. Man this went to a heavy place.”

“I thought you said it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

“Let’s just go nowhere, c’mere.” Dean pulled Sami into another kiss and touched him feverishly, faster, hands roaming but not stopping anywhere in particular. He rolled onto his side so they were facing again and got both of their underwear off. Soon Dean was stroking them both together with one hand, and Sami was making wordless mewling noises of pleasure and need. It was a quiet orgasm that came over both of them, silencing the voices that told them to worry or to fear that this wasn’t real or wouldn’t last or that they couldn’t have everything they wanted.

***

And that’s how it went, driving together and talking or not talking and kissing and learning each other’s bodies inside and outside of the ring, arguing about music and planning a ghost hunt and trying not to worry too much about the future and failing and booking the territory and drafting fantasy rosters and bullshitting about what they’d do with the briefcase and who they’d want to have a match against in a time-travelling alternate universe fantasy world.

“You’re right handed,” Sami said.

Dean nodded, continuing to get ready for bed.

“But you brush your teeth left-handed.”

“I’m a rebel,” Dean said with a mouth full of toothpaste.

Sami ate his first cheese coney dog (all beef) and Dean failed to believe anything Sami tried to tell him about Canadian food.

“You do not put milk in a bag, I don’t believe it. And ketchup chips? No. Just, no.”

For his part, Sami got to know better when Dean was winding him up as opposed to sincerely arguing with him.

It was just a couple weeks but to Sami, it felt like an endless summer putting off the cold fall that they both had to know was coming.

***

The week of Money in the Bank came upon them, and during the go-home show before the pay-per-view, Dean was booked to interview Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns about their title match, the main event, the first big match of Seth’s return from injury.

Dean tried to play like he didn’t care, but Sami could tell it was bothering him, something was getting deep under his skin about it.

Truth be told, Sami wasn’t sure how to ask Dean about previous partners. They had both skirted the subject, still not used to being able to talk openly about it even with each other.

The day of the show Dean seemed distant and quiet. They got their workouts in separately, got a bite to eat on their own, and showed back up at the venue at the same time. Dean made himself scarce as soon as they got changed, and Sami wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He hit up Woods for a round of Madden but then got restless.

He wandered around the hallways underneath the arena, aimlessly exploring, halfway looking for Dean but also looking at the pipes and conduits and snaking cables that kept the operation and the building running. Sami doubled back toward where the production area was.

“Don’t lie, you missed this,” Sami heard a nasal voice say from around a corner.

“Nope,” Dean said, unmistakably popping the p.

“Suit yourself. But hang onto this for later.” A moment later Sami heard footsteps and Seth Rollins came strutting around a corner. “Sami,” he said.

“Hi Seth,” Sami said. “Where’s Dean?”

Seth gestured backward with his head and strode away. Sami turned down that hallway and found Dean scowling at a white plastic keycard.

“Hey, there you are,” Sami said. “What’s that?”

Dean tossed it over his shoulder. “Nothing important. Wanna hit catering? I want some fucking cheesecake.”

***

Come time for the end of the show, they were all loitering around gorilla and trying not to step on each other’s toes, but it didn’t seem like Seth was trying all that hard. Roman kept shooting Sami and Dean apologetic glances.

“Good luck out there fuckface,” Seth said to Dean, slapping him on the back as he made his entrance through the curtain. “Don’t trip.”

Sami’s blood boiled. He grabbed Seth by the arm and turned him around. “What gives you the right to talk to him that way, huh?”

Seth looked at him strangely. “That’s how we always talked to each other. What’s it to you?”

They stared at each other warily.

“Oh,” Seth said.

“Oh what?”

“So he’s slumming his way through the midcard. Hmm. I guess that will keep him busy.”

“Fuck you,” Sami said, getting in his face. “Just treat him like a fucking human being.”

“You  _ have _ got it bad,” Seth said, taking a step back. “Don’t worry, he likes it when you’re mean to him.”

“Does he?” Sami said. But before he could get any further, Seth had to make his entrance.

***

The promo was tense but Sami couldn’t take his eyes away from the monitor. Dean spoke, unrattled. “What if  _ I _ win the Money in the Bank contract.”

He looked up at the briefcase on a hook over their heads.

“And whether it’s you…” He glared at Seth. “Or whether it’s you, I cash in that same night and I walk out WWE World Heavyweight Champion!”

He chomped on his gum and got in their faces. Dean’s music swelled. Seth charged them, of course, and while Roman got a Superman punch in on Seth, Dean put Roman in Dirty Deeds and walked out looking like he just might be a real threat.

Sami was ready to meet him and pull him into a big hug, but Dean never came through the curtain, or he did and dodged anyone seeing him. Sami waited around through the dark match but he was nowhere to be found and Sami’s brain started filling out a missing persons report in his head, even though he tried to stop it, showering and changing out of his ring gear and taking deep breaths.

“Claudio, have you seen Dean?” Sami asked.

“Not since he was talking to Seth earlier,” he shrugged.

Sami steeled himself and approached Seth, who was swinging the keys of a rental car in a circle around his finger and looking smug.

“Hi Seth, did you see where Dean went after the show?” he asked politely.

“Gee Sami, I was hoping I’d see him in my room later, but that’s the best I’ve got right now.”

Sami glared. “Get fucked.”

“I’m trying!” Seth said over his shoulder as he headed out into the parking structure.

“Hey,” Roman said softly from behind him. Sami turned around. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Sami sighed. “Thanks.”

“Sometimes Dean…” Roman looked upward trying to find a word. “Wanders off. When things get too much. It’s not you.”

“So where the hell is he?” Sami said.

Roman leaned in conspiratorially. “Closest gay bar to the venue is always a safe bet, but he has some regular places in towns we go back to a lot.” Roman punched a large finger at his phone and pulled up a map. “Here. If you want to find him, try this place. If not, he’ll come back on his own. But…” Roman trailed off.

“What?”

“Take good care of him, okay?”

“Always.”

***

Sami sat down on a bar stool next to Dean, who turned to look at him guiltily.

“I’m looking for my boyfriend, have you seen him?”

“Sorry,” Dean said, taking a big swig out of a pint glass.

“Why did you just take off? I mean you can go wherever you want but…I was worried.” Sami took his hat off and scrubbed his hand through his hair.

Dean gulped. “Fuck, Sami, I was scared. Am scared. Not sure what to do.”

“About what?” Sami asked.

“I don’t know how to be in love with someone I don’t also hate a little bit,” Dean said, voice quavering. “The only thing I hate about you is that I want to hate you but I can’t, you’re a better person than this fucking industry deserves, I can’t hate you for being too nice because I’ve  _ tried _ , goddammit, Sami, I don’t know how—”

Sami caught Dean’s gesturing hand and pulled it into his. He rubbed it gently between his own hands. “You’re making this too hard for yourself, Deano. Nobody knows how to be in love. It’s like breathing. Just do it.”

“How do  _ you  _ do it?”

“This is what we’re going to do,” Sami said. “I’m going to talk to the DJ to get a song put on. Then we’re going to dance.”

There was a long pause, like Dean was waiting for the rest of the plan. “Is that it?” he asked.

“That’s it. I’ve learned that sometimes you don’t really need to plan any farther than the next song,” Sami said, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

Dean looked briefly skeptical, tonguing his cheek, but then laughed and waved Sami off. “It’s more of a plan than I’ve got, kid. Go for it.”

Sami got up from their table near the dance floor and went over to the guy in a cowboy hat and a western shirt running the music. From what Dean could see, he was speaking animatedly to the DJ, talking with his hands, gesturing with his own hat, giving the man the full Sami Zayn press.

What Sami was saying was: “Hi. I’m here with my boyfriend. This might be the last night we get together for a long time, maybe, possibly. No, he’s not getting deployed, well, not really, but he might have to travel places where I don’t go. Can you play a song for us?” And Sami told him the song. And the man put it in the queue. Sami started to walk away.

“Good luck tomorrow,” the DJ said. “I think it’ll be okay. You’re good for him. You know, your fella comes in here every time he’s in town, but he’s never looked at anybody like he looks at you.”

“Really?” Sami said, turning around.

“Hang on to him,” he said.

Sami huffed with seriousness. “I will.” Then he walked back to Dean.

“What did you request?” Dean asked, finishing the last of his beer.

“You’ll know when it comes on,” Sami said. And a moment later, the line dancing song that had been playing faded out and the opening strains of an old Chuck Berry song came on. Sami grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him out on to the dance floor.

“The hell are we doing?” Dean asked.

“I know how many times you’ve seen Pulp Fiction. You can fake it.”

“It was a teenage wedding and the old folks wished ‘em well,” the man sang. “We could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle.” Sami worked his hips back and forth and up and down, like many people out on the dance floor started to do, laughing with delight.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You think you can twist better than me?” he asked. Sami didn’t answer, just kept dancing. He worked in a cabbage patch and a couple of Uma Thurman eye swipes.

Dean shook his head and pulled Sami closer. “This is how you twist,” he said. And they rocked together, hips gyrating, Dean suddenly leading. Sami was light on his feet and showed off some footwork as they separated to dance apart, then slowly came back together. Other people gave them room and watched them. They twisted real low, into a crouch, and then slowly came all the way back up.

“It’s gonna be okay, whatever happens,” Sami said. “We’ll always have this.”

Dean was lost in the music but Sami’s words reached him, washing over his face that lost its pinched worriedness the more they danced. Dean spun Sami who danced out into the crowd and then back into Dean’s arms.

“It goes to show, you never can tell,” the song wound down.

“You never can tell,” Dean said, laughing with a little disbelief and a lot of affection.

“You never can tell,” Sami said. They kissed then, just another couple at the bar, and forgot to wait for what would come.

  
  



End file.
